


Q, It's a Chicken

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond - Fandom, Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: M/M, another tumblr fill, ummm.....chickens?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr:</p><p>sherlocked-with-tea asked you: Are you taking prompts? If you are could you do a 00Q fic where Bond gets bombarded with baby chickens???</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q, It's a Chicken

SPLAT!  
Bond looked down, face impassive.  
"Q....what is that."

"007, I would have thought that the squawking would have given it away. It's a chicken."

"Yes, Q, I gathered that it is in fact, a chicken. Why did you just throw it at my face?"  
The chicken clucked around his feet and James kicked it away, a look of distaste on his face.  
“HEY! DON’T HURT HIM!” Q stood up and ran around his desk, sweeping the chicken up into his arms and crooned softly.  
“It’s okay chicky, the mean man didn’t mean it…”  
Bond just stood and stared, incredulous.  
“Q…it’s a chicken.”  
“It’s a BABY” hissed Q, glaring up at Bond through his glasses.  
“But these shoes are original Italians!” protested James. “And YOU threw the damn thing at my face!”  
Q turned his back to James, cuddling the chicken closer to his chest.  
James knew that he had crossed a serious line.  
“Q…is this about that gun? I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t mean for the Komodo dragon to eat it. It was an accident.”  
Q settled the bird on his desk, where it squatted, and happily pecked at his papers. Bond tried to guess whether his apology had worked from Q’s stance but couldn’t tell.  
He knew when Q turned around. With a face like thunder he repeated “a gun? A GUN?”  
“Well yeah… isn’t that what you’re angry about?”  
“No, Bond, I am not angry about the bloody gun. I am angry about MY WALTHER PPKS, WHICH WAS A NEW PROTOTYPE AND WHICH COST A QUARTER OF Q-BRANCH’S ANNUAL BUDGET TO MAKE WHICH YOU FED TO A BLOODY LIZZARD!”  
“Q-“  
“OUT! GET OUT!”  
Bond knew when to retreat and so slunk back out of the office.  
Q sighed and petted the chickens head, turning away from the door.  
Bond stuck his head back round.  
“So…dinner tonight?”  
“OUT!”  
Bond let the door slide shut properly this time, turning and starting his way back through Q-Branch.  
A voice came over the loudspeakers, calmly and clearly.  
“Underlings, attack.”  
James’ face wrinkled in confusion for one long second before every single intern reached beneath their desk, and launched a handful of either water or birdseed on him.  
He looked down at himself in plain bewilderment, as the water soaked him and the birdseed stuck.  
And then one intern kicked open the cage hidden behind a large crate of gun segments and dozens of baby chicken flew out.  
Bond’s face transformed into terror and he turned and ran for his life, followed by a long trail of squawking, pecking baby chickens.  
-everyonelaughsbecauseanationalagentandoneofthebestdoubleohsisrunningfrompoultry-  
Q was relaxing on the sofa, laptop on lap, casually stalking the Latvian Prime minister and switching every traffic light that the man reached red.  
The door opened and James walked in.  
He was covered in feathers, his suit was torn and shredded and his original Italian shoes were coated in bird poo.  
Q smirked before he noticed the smug grin covering James’ face. James’ dropped the bag he had been carrying in front of Q and walked to the shower, the grin stretching from ear to ear.  
“Dinner!” he called just before he locked the shower door, having to fight the urge to burst into laughter.  
Q looked suspiciously at the bag and very slowly opened it.  
Inside lay a small, raw, headless chicken.  
“James? James……did you….no this isn’t…James? JAMES? JAMES!!!”  
Inside the shower Bond grinned down at the Tesco receipt in his hand and switched on the water.  
Oh no, no one got the better of a double oh. Especially not 007.


End file.
